


From Eden

by araliya



Series: The Siken Diaries [3]
Category: Glee RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-04-07 02:28:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14070888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/araliya/pseuds/araliya
Summary: From Eden - Hozier





	From Eden

**Author's Note:**

> From Eden - Hozier

_“I woke up in the morning and I didn’t want anything, didn’t do anything, couldn’t do it anyway, just lay there listening to the blood rush_ _  
_ _through me and it never made any sense, anything.”_   
― Richard Siken

 

The night seemed like a dream, and the morning, a daydream.

 

The expensive hotel room sheets are almost familiar now to Darren, and he’s practically forgotten what his own fabric conditioner smells like. The days are simply a blur of coach seats and microphones and sweat pooling underneath the flimsy material of their costumes under the blinding lights of the stage.

 

Darren doesn’t want it to ever end.

 

Next to him, a body sleeps on, one arm thrown out on the pillow on which his head rests.

 

A faint dusting of tawny hair smattered over the freckled skin, a splash of chestnut against the pillow. A pale expanse of powder white, blending with the starkness of the sheets, only distinguished by the faded rose flush spread out over a shoulder, down a calf, at the tip of a slanting nose.

 

Darren drinks him in, rolls to his side and hovers the backs of his knuckles against the fair skin just close enough that he can feel the warmth of it.

 

He closes his eyes and when he opens them, two ice blue ones are staring at him in return, alert and amused.

 

“Good morning,” Chris says.

 

Even grated and thick with sleep, his voice is beautiful.

 

“Good morning,” Darren replies, quietly.

 

Chris eyes him sleepily, leans over to press a kiss to his nose, his cheeks and then his lips, and then hops off the bed. He stretches like a cat as he saunters off to the bathroom, and when he comes out fully dressed, Chris plucks a keycard from the nightstand next to Darren’s head.

 

He winks, blows a kiss, and steps out of the hotel room, the door clicking shut with a tell-tale _snick_.

 

Years later, a piece of plastic, unnoticeable and discrete, is unearthed from between a photograph and its frame. On it is a hotel room number, and a message written in sharpie, faded with time.


End file.
